“Gammon!—it’s a shark!—look at his worried expression!”
“I’ll ‘shark’ you, young Harry!” grunted Jim. “Mind your eye—there he comes!” And expressions of admiration broke from the scoffers as a second splendid perch dangled in the air and was landed high and dry—or comparatively so—in the branches of the wattle tree.
“Is he as big as yours, Norah?” queried Jim a minute later, tossing his fish down on the grass close to his sister and the Hermit.
Norah laid the two fishes alongside.
“Not quite,” she announced; “mine’s about an inch longer, and a bit fatter.”
“Well, that’s all right,” Jim said. “I said it was the grandmother I had—yours is certainly the grandfather! I’m glad you got the biggest, old girl.” They exchanged a friendly smile.
A yell from Wally intimated that he had something on his hook, and with immense pride he flourished in the air a diminutive blackfish—so small that the Hermit proposed to use it for bait, a suggestion promptly declined by the captor, who hid his catch securely in the fork of two branches, before re-baiting his hook. Then Harry pulled out a fine perch, and immediately afterwards Norah caught a blackfish; and after that the fun waxed fast and furious, the fish biting splendidly, and all hands being kept busy. An hour later Harry shook the last worm out of the bait tin and dropped it into the water on his hook, where it immediately was seized by a perch of very tender years.
“Get back and grow till next year,” advised Harry, detaching the little prisoner carefully, the hook having caught lightly in the side of its mouth. “I’ll come for you next holidays!” and he tossed the tiny fellow back into the water. “That’s our last scrap of bait, you chaps,” he said, beginning to wind up his line.
“I’ve been fishing with an empty hook for I don’t know how long,” said Jim, hauling up also. “These beggars have nibbled my bait off and carefully dodged the hook.”
“Well, we’ve plenty, haven’t we?” Norah said. “Just look what a splendid pile of fish!”